Page 49 of The Survivor
“I’m not upset—I’m angry!” she burst out. “He’s playing games with me, Blake. He waltzed right into your neighborhood and suckered some poor kid into delivering those disgustingroses!” Her eyes flashed with rage and horror. “What if he’d hurt that boy?”
“But he didn’t, thankfully.”
“No, of course not.” She made a bitter sound. “It’s me he wants to hurt.”
“I won’t let him,” he said with conviction.
She released a heavy sigh, the anger in her eyes beginning to dim. Rubbing her forehead, she cast a resigned look in his direction. “It’s always there with you, isn’t it? This case?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Earlier, when we were out in the yard…for a moment I was…having fun, I guess.” Her chest rose softly as she drew in a long breath then exhaled. “But you didn’t forget, did you? The entire time we were outside, the Rose Killer was on your mind, wasn’t he?”
He faltered, not sure what to say.
“Tell me why you took this case, Blake.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” he said roughly.
She leaned into him, moving the blanket so that it covered them both. “Why did you take this case?” she repeated.
“It’s my job, Sam.”
“It’s more than that. You’re pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion. You’re stressed, you’re getting headaches.”
“Comes with my line of work,” he said flippantly.
“Bull. You’re using this case as an excuse. You’re hell-bent on finding this guy because it helps you not think about Kate.”
His lips tightened. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Melanie told me Kate died because of a case you were working on.”
Shards of stinging pain sliced through him. Why the hell would Melanie have done that?
“You blame yourself for her death, don’t you?”
He felt her warm hand move under the blanket. She rested it on his thigh, and he was amazed how her touch could still arouse him when his brain was screaming vile things at him.
“I blame myself because I was at fault,” he muttered.
“I don’t believe that.”
He shrugged her hand away as a violent jolt of fury seared up his spine. Gulping back the acrid taste in his mouth, he curled his hands into tight fists and spoke briskly, as if reciting from a textbook. “Kate was profiling a killer for me. A lead came in and I went after it. She wanted to come along, I let her.” “So?”
Blake twisted around so they were face-to-face. Unwelcome memories swarmed his brain like street litter blowing on the sidewalk. “So Ilether,” he repeated.
Even now, he couldn’t fathom how he’d made such an incomprehensible error. Kate had been a desk agent, for God’s sake. She’d undergone field training, of course, but she’d never worked outside FBI headquarters in Quantico before. She’d never had to fire a gun at a suspect or don a bulletproof vest or tackle an enraged killer and throw him to the ground.
What the hell had he been thinking, letting her tag along for an arrest?
He said all this to Sam, nearly choking on each word, and the rest of the story wasn’t any easier to get out.
“We tracked the perp to an abandoned warehouse outside of Richmond. He popped out of the shadows with a gun. Kate had her back turned to him. I saw him there, raised my own weapon, but I hesitated.”
Sam reached for his hand, and this time Blake welcomed her touch. “I had a clear shot of him, but Kate was standing right there and I didn’t want her caught in the cross fire. I shouted for her to get down, but she was two seconds too late. He shot her in the back. Twice. He got off his third shot just as my bullet connected with his forehead.”
“Blake…I’m sorry.”
